


listen to my heartbeat (it calls you whenever it wants)

by jaesungs



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fear of Death, Hanahaki Disease, Heavy Angst, Hospitals, Mentions of Death, Sad, basically 4k plus of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-08 17:18:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18627727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaesungs/pseuds/jaesungs
Summary: jisung never knew love could hurt so bad. he didn’t know that love wasn’t what it was in the movies: holding hands and cuddling and sweet talking and kisses. he never knew. until he was coughing up flower petals.





	listen to my heartbeat (it calls you whenever it wants)

**Author's Note:**

> this is sad, but it ends happy!! i don't know what i was thinking while writing this. also, fellow chensung writers. why?? are ??? we??? so????? SAD???????????
> 
> hopefully not too cliche? hopefully kinda sad though?? my angsty heart is fulfilled!!!!
> 
> sorry it's 1:38 am and i just finished writing. this is completley unbeta-ed and like might be full of errors!!! i'll come back and edit one day.
> 
> okay, enjoy. 
> 
> title: save me by bts

__

__

**epigraph**

“Even after all this time, the Sun never says to the Earth, "You owe me."

Look what happens with a love like that,

It lights the whole sky.”

― Hafiz

❁❁❁

hanahaki disease was rare, but it happened. because in some people’s worlds, love was also death. how the two could ever overlap, jisung didn’t know. he thought people were too cynical.

maybe because jisung had never met anyone with hanahaki in his entire life. he’d heard of cases, the two percent of the entire population that actually got it. see, unrequited love happens. but, you’ve got to love someone so bad it hurts to breathe without them, for your heart to stop beating when they’re not around. you have to die without them to get hanahaki.

the honest to god truth was that most people wouldn’t suffocate on flowers that grew in their lungs because they loved someone so much. most people would survive without the person.

but, zhong chenle quite literally sung his way into jisung’s heart. he built a home there on a tuesday morning in the boys bathroom as he sang frank ocean in the mirror while jisung peed.

jisung went to wash his hands as chenle went to get paper towels to dry his. they made eye contact, stood there for ten seconds before chenle smiled. 

their relationship blossomed from there. it was easy for them, simple because chenle did a lot of talking and jisung did a lot of listening. their dynamics made sense. when nothing else in jisung’s life made sense, like his sisters drinking habit and his parents' divorce, chenle made sense. chenle’s smile and his hugs and his cuddles and his eyes. 

how romantic that as jisung throws up chrysanthemum petals, his mind is trained on the person causing them to grow in his lungs and kill him with every budding flower. 

“jisung?” jaemin’s voice rang out through his bathroom. jisung looked up from the toilet, floor covered in the yellow petals from chenle’s favorite flowers. there are footsteps coming into his oversized bathroom connected to his room. “oh, god.”

jaemin his falling next to him, knees landing on the petals, as he rubs jisung’s back as he coughs up a few more petals. it feels never-ending, pain that lasts forever.

“hanahaki,” jaemin breathes out, eyes already teary because jaemin is jaemin. can’t get through a dog commercial without tearing up. “...chenle? it’s chenle?”

jisung nods his head slowly, lifting his face from the toilet seat. he’s blotchy, red on his cheeks and around his forehead, bangs falling into his eyes. jaemin swipes his fingers through jisung’s fringe, moving it from his eyes. 

there’s silence for a very, very long time. longer than jisung has ever sat in silence. he’s used to someone constantly talking. whether it be chenle or jaemin or donghyuck, someone is always speaking. the second longest happens to be when his parents told him about their divorce at the kitchen table he now avoids. third is when his sister told him she’d be back and then left him alone in her bedroom where he found her stash of adderall.

but out of all of those times jisung likes to repress, this is the worst silence. 

jisung leans against the wall, knees against his chest. “loving him is killing me.”

jaemin takes a few seconds to decide on what he wants to say, how to respond to jisung’s statement. “i thought this only happened in the movies.”

jisung shrugs. “guess it happens when you love someone enough to die because they don’t love you back.”

it’s so nonchalant when nothing about this is nonchalant. “you love him that much?”

“petals don’t lie, jaem.” 

“i guess they don’t.” 

how or why jaemin was in jisung’s house in the first place never comes up. they often forget the trivial details altogether when they’re around one another. instead, they end up lying in jisung’s king size bed but glued right to each other.

jaemin doesn’t ask jisung about chenle because he knows it only causes pain. jisung’s suffocating on chenle’s favorite flowers, he doesn’t need to be reminded.

they turn on a disney channel movie that jisung falls asleep to twenty minutes in. jaemin examines jisung thoroughly. the flowers aren’t at their worst, probably a stage one out of five, but he’s dying nonetheless. one day, the flowers will grow so big, take so much oxygen from jisung that his lungs will give out.

“a boyfriend,” jisung mumbles in his sleep, flipping onto his chest out of jaemin’s hold. “chenle…”

jaemin wants to scream in frustration because it’s not fair. nothing about this is fair. the whole love thing isn’t fair. he’s seen chenle and jisung, seen the way that they look at each other like chenle paints the sunrise every morning and jisung colors in the lines of the sunset chenle sketches for him. it’s easy to see, but jaemin guesses he’s been misguided. or something.

❁❁❁

jisung doesn’t wake up until the next morning. jaemin was next to him, snoring softly as the morning sun shone through the cracks in his curtains. jisung smiles a little because he hasn’t died yet. yet is a low, low bar for him.

“he likes someone else,” jisung mentions mindlessly as jaemin scrolls through his phone. “talks about this girl all the time, you know.”

jaemin stops scrolling, throws his phone down on the bed altogether . “i’m so sorry, jisung. i’m so fucking sorry there aren’t any words that explain how sorry i am.”

jisung shrugs casually, like him being so in love with someone that it’s killing him doesn’t matter at all. “don’t be. it’s not your fault.”

“i know, but-“

“it’s not your fault he doesn’t love me back. it’s not your fault that i’m dying either. i’m not really sure it’s his fault either…”

jaemin blinks away the tears that sting his eyes. how can this happen? he wants to know why the universe is so terrible, so horrible. in fact, he wants to know why the universe gives you someone who doesn’t love you back. he wants to know why...why the universe is going to kill jisung because he’s capable of the emotion so awfully human. love. 

“whose fault is it, then?” jaemin wonders aloud. 

“nobody’s,” jisung answers quietly, the only sound besides his voice is the ruffling of the sheets as he moves. “my own? i don’t know.”

jaemin sighs heavily. “it’s so fucked up.”

jisung chuckles. it’s so forced that it’s painful for the both of them. “guess it fits for me, right?”

“what do you mean?”

“my parents got divorced, my grandparents hate each other, my sister abandoned me. guess i’m just another in a long line of family members who’ve been fucked over by love.”

jaemin’s expression soften as jisung’s eyes start to water. “oh jisung.”

he holds jisung to his chest, coddling him and kissing his hair. jaemin doesn’t have an answer for jisung. not the one he wants or deserves, so jaemin just remains silent.

eventually, after enough quiet, jaemin speaks up. “you need to tell someone, sung. someone needs to know.”

“who?” jisung’s voice is so exasperated and desperate, broken beyond repair. “my parents don’t give a fuck about me, jaem. my mom works twenty-four-seven to get away from me, my dad is an alcoholic. i haven’t seen my sister in a _year_. she fucking left me. there’s no one. i have…no one.”

jaemin shakes his head. “you have me, jisung. forever. you have me forever.”

jisung lets a tear fall finally, unable to stop the way the rest just fall out of his eyes. “why can’t we just be in love?”

he looks at jaemin with his brown, tearful eyes and that little pout where his bottom lip trembles hopelessly. he’s the poster child of people with hanahaki. a disease that breaks you from the inside out. you shatter from the inside out. parts of you are lost and torn in ways that no one will really ever get. it starts with your heart. and, it ends with your soul. 

“god,” jaemin said, voice cracking. “i wish it worked like that. god, sung, do i wish it fucking worked like that.”

why it couldn’t work like that, jisung would never know. some people said you got to choose who you love, but how that could ever be true when some people died because they loved someone? who would choose to die because of love?

maybe it is a choice. or, something close.

❁❁❁

there are so many reasons that jisung is hopelessly, foolishly, stupidly in love with zhong chenle. maybe it’s how he sings frank ocean every twenty seconds, randomly, whenever he felt like it. how his eyes crinkled when he smiled hard enough. his laugh when something was truly funny, not his fake laugh when a teacher spoke to him about their boring lives. his awkward little dances when he’s nervous and his habit of babying jisung even though they’re just a few months apart.

what jisung doesn’t love all that much is the way chenle talks about his crush with these stars in his eyes. talks the way jisung talks about him. talks like the reason every pearl in the ocean is made for him. like, why does chenle not love him back? how is it fair at all?

god, nothing makes any fucking sense.

“are you even listening to me?” chenle waves his hand in front of jisung’s face, chopsticks in front of his other hand. 

no. “yeah.”

“then what did i just say?” chenle gives jisung a pointed look.

jisung just shrugs his shoulders. he doesn’t want to hear what chenle has to say for once. not when he talks about his crush, a name jisung doesn’t even want to learn because it hurts.

his chest burns at the thought. he thinks it’s his heart, but then again, maybe it’s the flowers in his lungs that ache at the thought of chenle’s lips touching another’s. 

“exactly.”

chenle starts talking about some random topic and jisung lets himself zone out, just listen to the way chenle speaks and how he forms his words like he’s the most confident person in the room. probably is, when jisung thinks about it.

he can’t help it when his mind drifts to chenle’s lips, to kissing them softly, to holding him softly. to all the soft things of zhong chenle. his soft brown hair and his soft eyes. his soft cheeks and smile.

jisung doesn’t think that there is anybody else in the world for him. he can’t imagine himself loving someone else the way he loves zhong chenle. he almost laughs when he realizes he won’t have another chance to do so anyway. not when he’s a dead man walking. 

how horrifyingly romantic hanahaki is. you fall so in love with one person that you can’t love another person the same way. 

he guesses that’s why it’s so rare. your heart has found one person and decided that it’ll only do with that one person. how stubborn and picky your heart is. how lucky is jisung that he has someone his heart has decided is perfectly perfect for him. and, how unlucky that person’s heart hasn’t chosen him too.

❁❁❁

throwing up is not fun. throwing up fucking flower petals is about ten thousand times worse. they burn and stick and _hurt_. an eternal reminder that you’re not loved back.

jisung decides to throw himself a one-person pity party in the school bathroom, sweat-soaked and aching from the inside out. he lets out this helpless cry before settling against the stall door, eyes closed.

he still hasn’t figured out hanahaki. the how, he has covered. the what, is pretty self-explanatory. the when, he still doesn’t know. sometimes it just happens when he thinks about chenle. when chenle’s name pops up on his phone. when he catches chenle sneaking a kiss with his crush.

the latter of the three makes the most sense to him. he vomits up flower petals from the flowers that grow in his lungs because chenle doesn’t love him back when he sees chenle kissing someone else. it makes sense for once. 

finally, something in his goddamn life makes sense. chenle used to be the most logical thing in his life, the only part of his life he could trust wholly. he put his faith in zhong chenle when everything else failed him. and, now he has flower petals coming out of his body to be sure of. when everything else is disappointing him—when his own fucking love for chenle is killing him—at least he has flowers in his lungs to remind him of the only inevitable matter. death.

❁❁❁

it acts up the most when he’s sad. he has to test his theory a couple of times to make sure, but he knows it’s a fact when he’s sitting with his friends, all coupled up and he starts to cough.

the scene is like one straight out of a movie. mark, jaemin, and jeno are cuddled up on the couch, giggling and making fun of the movie. renjun and donghyuck are in the kitchen supposedly “cooking dinner” but their version of cooking is actually making out while the food burns behind them.

jisung can’t help it when he starts to cough. he can’t help it even when he tries to be quiet. and, he can’t help it when he has to run to the bathroom for the second time that day.

he hears the pitter patter of footsteps behind him while he coughs up the petals, too many to count this time. it’s progressing, he knows that much. it’s getting so much worse that he’s weak as jaemin walks into the room, sighing.

“oh, sungie,” he murmurs, grabbing a washcloth and wetting it before pressing it to jisung’s forehead. “you’re getting worse.”

jisung dry heaves and nods. he lets himself melt into jaemin’s touch and the coolness of the cloth. he closes his eyes. jaemin holds onto him, rubbing his back under the dim lighting of the bathroom.

he hears footsteps, hushed whispers, maybe even some crying, but he’s not present enough to make anything definitive out. he’s so goddamn thankful that jaemin doesn’t ask him to.

as they sit there, emotions fester deep within him. he’s so...mad. and, pissed. and, goddamn angry at the world. but, more than anything he’s devastated. this deep seeded, overwhelming feeling of _lost_. 

if he can’t have zhong chenle, if loving chenle is killing him, why is he still doing it? is he really that suicidal? that crazy? 

he doesn’t want the answers. he’s sure he wouldn’t like the answers.

he’s not sure how or when he ends up in mark’s bed, tucked in the way his mom used to do before she said he was too old for it. he wakes up tired and thirsty. 

beside him is jaemin, asleep and snoring. there’s water on the bedside table next to mark’s collection of pictures of his stupid boyfriends. jisung gags.

fuck mark and jeno and jaemin for being happy and in love. they’ve got to be the most dysfunctional people jisung’s ever met. actually, no. fuck renjun and donghyuck who _are_ the most dysfunctional people jisung’s ever met and they still manage to be in love, or in some form of it.

he bitterly drinks the water left for him. his head is pounding, the pounding it always does after he pukes up the stupid fucking petals. he collapses back onto the bed, listening to the sounds coming from downstairs. 

there’s laughter from what he can hear. he checks the time on his phone. 2:31 am. he sighs. 

this sense of gratefulness suddenly washes over him. jaemin could be down there, having fun, but instead, he’s with jisung in bed. if chenle doesn’t love him, at least jaemin will be there when he dies. jisung loves all his friends. he loves everything about them, including their crazy and flawed logic. but, nobody loves him the way jaemin loves him. for that, jisung is eternally grateful. for whatever eternity or short forever he has, he’s grateful.

❁❁❁

now, he’s desperate. the panic sets in when he coughs up his first fully bloomed flower. it’s beautiful, bright and yellow in clolor. how can something so heavenly hurt so bad?

the first person he calls is jaemin, croaking into the phone the second he picks up. “i’m gonna die, jaem. it’s real. it’s...jesus fuck...i’m drying. i’m going to die.”

“woah. woah. what?” jaemin asks, voice steady in comparison to jisung’s hysterical cries.

“i-i thought it would go away. but, it’s not. i...god, fuck. i didn’t want to even think about it. but, i’m out of options. i...there’s nowhere else to go.”

“jisung. what?” 

“surgery. i have to get the flowers removed. there’s no other way.”

“surgery? what do you mean ‘surgery’? what does that even mean?”

“the flowers...they have to come out. they’re suffocating me...and, i guess i’m not getting over chenle anytime soon.”

“c’mon, sung,” jaemin tries, “you have to tell him. y-you never know until you know. maybe he feels the same?”

jisung laughs like anything is funny. “hilarious. jaemin, you know there’s no other option. i have to get this surgery.”

“there has to be another way, jisung. y-you can’t get rid of the flowers through surgery.”

“and what does it even matter, jaemin? i need to get rid of these goddamn flowers, okay?”

“jisung-”

the line goes dead.

❁❁❁

he sits on his couch for two weeks as the flowers blossom into full-grown fields. he’s thanking god that school got out for their end of semester break right before the worst of it hit because he’s been out sick for a week.

he hasn’t seen his parents in a week either. both, leaving him money to do whatever he wanted because they just didn’t give a fuck. if he were healthier, he would throw a rager to help him forget about the pain in his chest.

he’s sitting on his couch, tv playing some movie in the background as he lays there miserably. he can’t even bring himself to look up when he hears the wood creak under someone’s weight.

“oh, god,” chenle’s angel like voice rings out in the room. “jisung? i haven’t heard from you for two week? are you okay? jesus christ.” chenle drops to his knees in front of jisung’s face.

“i’m fine,” jisung responds stubbornly, barely able to look at chenle without this pang in his heart.

“you’re sick,” chenle touches jisung’s arm first. “you need to see a doctor.” he caresses jisung’s cheek, hallowed out so far his cheekbones are visible.

“i’m not sick,” jisung argues weakly, pulling away from chenle’s touch. he takes in his scent. the vanilla and warmth that chenle carries with him everywhere he goes. “i’m fine. stop touching me, _please_.”

“jisu--”

“you should go,” jisung interrupts, voice cracking and eyes already welling with tears. “i’m really tired. i need to rest.”

“b-”

“thanks for coming.” jisung doesn’t look at chenle. fiftenn percent so that he’ll get the message. eight-five percent because it hurt more to break chenle’s heart than to die loving for loving him.

chenle’s there. he waits for a few minutes before he finally understands that nothing he does will make jisung give in. jisung hears the door slam shut over the sound of his own pathetic sobs.

❁❁❁

the two-week mark hits. he hasn’t heard from chenle in seven days and sixteen hours. he’s going insane. all he can think about is chenle. or dying. or how the two of them come together to form the perfect recpipe of jisung poison. add the sweet scent of chenle and the potency of death, and jisung’s gone for good.

he’s on the couch, fully bloomed flowers around him. the final stage is in full effect. 

“the surgery,” jaemin says before greeting him after having barged into jisung’s house, using the spare key jisung continuously forgets to change the hiding place of. “what does it take? money? time? recovery? chances of death? i’m listening.”

“hi,” jisung musters up enough energy to wave. his eyes can barely stay open. his fingers brush the silky petals of the yellow chrysanthemums beside him. he picks one up and eyes it, barely able to focus on it long enough. 

“what is the surgery, jisung? you can’t die. not for him. n-not yet.”

“don’t think he’s worth dying for?”

“no,” jaemin mumbles, obviously exasperated with the situation . just two weeks ago jisung was begging for the surgery. how could so much have changed in two weeks? “i don’t.”

jisung smiles sadly, bags under his eyes apparent and loud. “well, i die for him or i forget him completely, jaem.” jisung drops the flower on the floor with the others that have piled up over the past week.

“what?”

“consequences of losing the petals. they can remove them, but i lose my love for him. my memories of him. it’s like he never even existed...like he never walked into my life. not sure i want to even live like that.”

“not sure you want to die for someone who doesn’t love you back either.”

jaemin is harsh, brutal, rather. but honest. jisung respects him for that. reasonably, it explains why he agrees to go to the hospital in nothing but a flower covered sweatshirt and adidas sweatpants jaemin dressed him in.

❁❁❁

the doctors told them that surgery had to be within the following two days or he’d suffocate before they even got a chance to cut him open. he agreed tentatively, holding onto jaemin with everything he had, which happened to be very little.

“okay, the nurse will be here to prep you in a few minutes,” the surgeon tells him, smiling before leaving.

“are you sure?” jaemin asks for the nth time since they’d arrived two days ago.

jisung looks up from his lap. “can you make up your fucking mind? one second you’re telling me to do it. the next you’re saying not to. you’re the one who told me he isn’t worth dying for.”

jaemin bites his lip out of habit. he fists his hair before shrugging hoplessly. “you love him so much it’s killing you, sungie. when i think about that, i can’t help but wonder if this is the right decision. i mean, did you even tell him? there’s another way. he just has to tell you three words.”

“he says...he said...i love you to me everyday. but he doesn’t mean it...not the way it really counts. not the way that’ll save me, jaem.”

“i-i just don’t want you to regret it.” jaemin looks at him with those puppy dog eyes of his. sweet and wet, big and sappy. jisung has always been a sucker for jaemin’s puppy dog eyes, much like everyone else whose ever met the older. he has a way with people.

but, so does jisung. “lucky for me, i won’t remember him anyway. i’ll have nothing to regret.”

that shuts jaemin up.

❁❁❁

he’s done with pre-op, jaemin on his right, holding his hand and playingwith his nimble fingers.

all his friends are here, or so jaemin says. jisung has yet to see them. they never talked about the night that they found him in the bathroom surrounded by flower petals. there wasn’t anything to talk about in jisung’s book. they could ask all the questions they wanted, he could say all the answers but nothing would change.

he catches sight of someone who looks like zhong chenle in the flesh when he realizes _no, n, no_.

“i-can’t!” jisung panics, hands shaking and rubbing his temples. “i can’t do it. i can’t do the surgery! jaemin! i can’t! i can’t! i can’t!”

the sheer terror in jisung’s voice puts jaemin over the edge. “jisung! stop! stop!” he holds jisung’s arms to the bed, despite the clawing he recieves. “stop!”

jisung finally calms down after jaemin holds him place a little longer, voice soft and smooth. “i can’t do it yet.”

“jisung, you’ll die without this surgery.”

the doctor walk in, eyebrows raised. “jisung? are you okay?”

“no,” jisung replies meekly, but honestly. “i can’t do the surgery. not yet.”

“jisung, you do not have time to wait. i highly adv-”

“i can’t give up on him. not yet. how much time until it’s too late?”

“it doesn’t wor-”

“how. much. time?” jisung’s voice is deep, comes from a place he hadn’t even realized existed whithin in.

“a day. maybe two if you’re extreemly lucky.”

jisung nods his head. “i’ll wait.”

“you’ll die,” jaemin praically screams, fists clenching so tight he draws blood on his palms. “you’ll die,” he repeats in a whisper like he’s only saying it to himself.

“he’s worth it.”

“he isn’t. he doesn’t even know,” jaemin drops to his knees, hands interwtined like he’s praying or something. “jisung, please. please. please. i can’t lose you. please.”

“listen to my heartbeat,” jisung says quietly, touching jaemin’s hand and bringing it to his chest where his heart beats. “listen.”

the rhythm is uneven. different than it should be. his breathing is labored and forced. “all i hear--all i see--is a dead man walking.”

“my heart beats because of him. maybe it’ll stop because of him, but it started again because of him. i can’t give up on him. he’s worth it, i promise.”

❁❁❁

time is ticking down, so much so jisung has written his goodbye letters to his parents. even one to his sister if she ever comes back.

a day passes by far too quickly. the doctors remind him that he’s running out of seconds. he tells them that he knows. because he does. he knows better than anyway that the clock is running down, that he’s running out of minutes.

he reaches for his orange juice when his hospital door slms open and zhong chenle in the flesh crashes inot him, knocking the little air in his lungs out.

“fuck,” he whispers.

“i’m so in love with you, park jisung. i’m so fucking stupid. god, you’re so fucking stpuid. jesus fucking christ.” he wraps his arms around jisung’s already frail body, holding him so tight jisung can barely inhale or exhale. 

“y-you love me?” jisung lets his hand run through chenle’s silky hair, unable to comprehend the feeling.

“no.” his heart literally stops. “i’m _in_ love with you, jisung. i don’t know why it took me so long to figure out. you were going to die for me. oh, my god! you idiot!” chenle lets go of jisung to slap him on the chest. “you were going to die for me! you’re such an idiot!”

jisung lets out a short, croaky laugh. it’s weird because he feels the pressure leaving, slowlyu, but surely. the flowers are dissapearing. the true cure to hanahaki. love. “i didn’t want to forget you...for it to be like you never existed. i...you changed me, chenle. do you not understand that? i was so alone when you came to me. sure, i had my friends. b-but it was lonely. iwas alone. but you saved me. how could i give that up?”

“so you could live!” chenle holds jisung’s face in his hands, rubbing his tumbs over the sharp cheekbones. “so you could take another breath without choking. so you could experience this life, jisung.”

“not to be corny, but living without you doesn’t really feel like liivng at all. it’s...it’s going thrugh the motions. it’s waking up everyday not knowing why you walk on earth. when i met you in the bathroom, my world started to spin again. you made it make sense. you did that for me chenle. if i forgot you, there would be no living. there would be me alone and you alone. and, we couldn’t start over because if we tried, i’d probalby grow the flowers all over again. in every dimension, in every chance we get to breathe, i will love you enough to die for you, zhong chenle. every single time.”

chenle sniffles, tears falling down his cheeks. “jesus christ,” he kisses jisung’s forehad. and his cheeks and his eyelids and his nose and his neck and his hair. “no more dying, okay? no more. not now.”

“no more,” jisung agrees with a real smile. the flowers are almost gone. they took months to grow, but less than ten minutes to disappear. the power of love. he can fainlly, finally breathe right. there’s no more fear. just love.

chenle kisses him first. it’s exactly what he had imagined. all soft and sweet, nothing greedy about it. chenle kisses him and kisses him and kisses him. he kisses him on the way home and every day for the rest of their lives. every day for the next lifetime they spend together.

**Author's Note:**

> omgkjaldfj thank you so much if you read...
> 
> its currently 1:40 am. i'm exhausted. pls leave kudos/comments. i promise it means so, so, so much to me. no comment is too short or long. 
> 
> also, i was so tempted to kill jisung. it seemed like it would be right. but, alas chensung prevails.
> 
> bonus title: you're the star (that turns ordinaries into extraordinaries) from boy with luv
> 
> i'm so happy i can check hanahaki off my list of fics to write
> 
> i hope it wasn't too cliche??
> 
> twit: @flirtmarks
> 
> with love,
> 
> \- liv


End file.
